Dear Diary…

*Personal Blog*

I know I’m not in a good place, when anything I start writing begins with ‘Dear Diary’ …
It’s like my safety blanket,  this is where I need to pour forth my soul and if you are not interested, please return when my writers block has scooted away and I feel more human again… I hereby apologise in advance for a little self indulgent emotional drama…

On Wednesday 7th June,  this week just gone, this day should have been Mum’s birthday. I suppose it still is her birthday in a way…

It has been six months since I lost my Mother and I am stillI unable to cry, I refuse to talk about her death in detail to anyone,  I hardly ever talk about the slow dwindling decline I witnessed throughout the duration of 2016. Apart from a few scattered blogs, where I feel safe writing,  yet only ever hinting,  skipping around the surface of details with no desire to elaborate. I find myself carrying a whole years worth of pain and suffering,  totally unspoken.

Upon days, like birthdays,  these surface,  they rob me of my sleep and gnaw away at my thoughts… I want to pour my heart out and all I say is “I’m fine”
It’s nothing,  it’s hormones,  the full moon, wrong time of the month, headache,  my knee is troubling me… all the various bull shit excuses I can lean on without having to explain the truth behind tear less eyes…

I think I’m honestly struggling and I don’t know how to reach out or who to reach out too and there again… what would I say?
There are no details here! There are no haunting memories laid bare.
Just empty words and an aching heart…

Maybe it is simply hormones and I’m feeling grotty… I feel stuck in a cycle of inactivity because I can’t move forward… trouble is,  I don’t know how to…

So Wednesday has been and gone, with respectful passing thoughts.
I keep myself so busy that I just don’t give myself time to think. 
Today I utterly crashed out,  I have lost all spoons and fell asleep during the day  (unheard of for me) and my knee really does hurt and my tummy ache is quite real.

So is the pain in my heart…

Thank you for taking the time to read my words, if you have got this far, please allow me to reassure you that I am quite alright  (mostly) I just really needed some space and time to pour my hurt into words… and…

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Anne Harrison 10.06.17

Broken Words

 

you can stare at the screen for as long as you like and still it remains blank…

 

the words are there

you know they are there

they have been running around your thoughts for days

you can picture the scene

hear the voices of your characters

they push into your dreams

they play in your daydreams

lingering on a long bus ride

 

but

 

sat before the screen

the words flee

the scene fades

words slip from your fingers

their voices silent

everything is distracting

focus scattered

 

sit

 

i have an hour

i had an hour

time dwindles

still i stare at the keys before me

qwerty mocking me

another lunchtime escaping creation

 

confused

 

even non fiction is fuddled

a change of direction

failed

im still sitting here

still sighing hard

 

watch

 

half my time is lost

and these words

are all i have

my fiend

 

im using the delete key more than i care too

words are written

then deleted

gone

 

i know the scene is there

i know what happens next

i know what i want to write

i know ill be on twitter instead

 

giphy

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Anne Harrison 09.06.17

 

 

 

 

 

 

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?

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Anne Harrison 15.05.17