Beautiful One

Posted on by estlh

Last year I had the chance to go on a couple of convent retreat days. I was a little apprehensive having never been to a convent, and because I knew I would be expected to spend increasing amounts of time in silence (no phones or other devices allowed). Life today is just so busy and noisy that the idea of spending time in silence just reflecting and being, without actually doing anything is entirely alien. But it proved to be a truly wonderful experience. It took a while to rid my mind of all the daily concerns and just stop it whirring, but as it did I had time to reflect, to breathe. I was fortunate that the weather was good each time I went, and I was able to sit in the grounds and listen to the sounds of nature that are all to often drowned out by daily life. I lay on the grass of the garden and sat pondering on the bench in the picture above. I was also able to speak to and, for the first time in a long while, hear from God. It was a wonderfully refreshing time. I really believe that whatever your religious beliefs, taking time out once in a while to just be silent and still, to step away from the bustle of daily life is of great benefit for your mental health. I was inspired upon my return to write this poem about women in the Bible who encountered Jesus.

Kneel at the crib of the beautiful one
Knowing that you have been blessed.
Watching the saviour of all of this world,
this child, who lies now at rest.

Kneel at the feet of the beautiful one
Washing them clean with your tears
Finally finding the love that you crave
That you have searched for these years.

Kneel at the well while the beautiful one
Tells all the things you have done
Offering to serve you the waters of life
Proclaim now that he is the one.

Kneel in your shame while the beautiful one
Asks who will cast the first stone
He knows no-one will be left to condemn
For each of you he will atone.

Kneel by the seat of the beautiful one
Listening to all he will say
Leaving the chores and the tasks to be done
Seizing the joy of this day

Kneel at the cross of the beautiful one
Weeping is all you can do
But take from this moment the promise of hope
Knowing he did this for you.

Kneel at the tomb of the beautiful one
Rejoice as he calls you by name
Knowing this moment the world has been changed
Never will life be the same.

Fog

Posted on by estlh

Fog. It is not something we see an awful lot of. I always find it a little exciting when we do – it lends an air of mystery to even familiar places. There’s a certain romanticism to it too, conjuring up images of misty moors and half hidden landscapes obscured by fluffy whiteness.
Brain fog, on the other hand is ghastly. Unfortunately it is all too common a symptom of depression and can be horribly debilitating.
At the moment I’m finding it so hard to write. Impossible even. It kind of feels like that part of my brain has been switched off. I can only barely deal with the factual and any sort of creativity is just beyond me. I think this may be down to a medication ‘blip’, meaning I am having to go through the initial side effects that I got when I first started taking it. I know that it will settle down in a few weeks but in the meantime I am frustrated, headachey, struggling with blurry vision and can not get my foggy brain to do anything useful despite my endeavours. I am annoyed that I have not been able to post anything for so long, so I have been looking back through my old stuff and thought I’d post some old poems. Hopefully the fog will clear soon and I can get back to writing some new stuff.

The silent depths of very night.
That’s how it was when first you came to me.
Out of the shadows into the silver patch of
moonlight on my carpet.
You startled me
I had thought of being alone,
but instead you were here –
an intruder on my solitude.
The anger flash in my eyes yelled
‘Do not disturb!’
The threads of my thought so fragile
I feared a misplaced word may chafe or tear.

So you sat there silent
in the still of very night
and when the morning sun crept stealth-like
through the darkness
I sent you out to capture for me
the dawn chorus.

Rainbow

Posted on by estlh 
I have captured myself in a rainbow 
 I have wrapped it around me so tight
 I have let all it's power pervade me 
 And now I am bursting with light.
 The out play of infinite colours 
 Releases the brightest of dreams
 A world of outrageous existence 
 Where nothing is quite what it seems.

 I have made me a bed of a raincloud
 I have wrapped it around me so tight
 I have let all it's tears wash right through me
 My stains are now all lily white.
 I arise from this absolving slumber
 Awash with the joy of new birth
 And I run from the heights to the oceans 
 Stretch my arms out, embracing the earth.

 I have swallowed the sound of the thunder.
 I have taken it's might for my voice 
 I have tasted this sonorous morsel
 Now all men will hear me rejoice.
 For my voice now has power to move mountains
 Watch as I sing and they shake 
 If I bow down my head to your ear
 One whisper and how you will quake.

 But these powers I now have were not given
 I stole them away - not for fun
 I wanted to win your affection
 For you are my bright shining sun
 So I stand now with boldness before you
 My splendour displayed for your view
 One word, then you turn and I crumble.
 I'm no match for the power that is you.

Where did the music go?

Posted on by estlh

Where did the music go?
Music was always a part of my life. I grew up in house where people sang. My parents were both in an amateur operatic society, and later in a choir which I also joined in my teens. I started piano lessons at 4, I learnt the violin at primary school, and at high school switched to the oboe, which I played in the church worship band. I did dance lessons for a while. In my teens I had a record player in my room, and eventually a CD player. I listened, I played, I sang, I danced. Music was everywhere, adding colour and extra flavour to my life.
Somewhere along the way I lost it.
A friend on Facebook recently asked people to post which songs they listened to for different moods. I was stumped. I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I actually bought any music. My life hasn’t been silent. It’s just that none of the music I’ve listened to for a long time has been of my choosing. When the kids wanted to choose the music it was easier to just let them, especially on long car journeys and I just sort of gradually forgot that I had a choice too. That might sound silly, but I think one of the characteristics of depression is a sense of unworthiness. Why would anybody want to speak to me, spend time with me, listen to me, or to my choice of music? So I got used to listening to the kids choice and my husbands choice, and kind of forgot about the music that I would choose.
Also, as seems to be the way lately, my phone had it’s part to play too. Previously there were times, especially when I had the house to myself, that I would have put on some music and danced or sang around the house. Maybe doing a bit of housework as I went, but enjoying the music, feeling it. Now I can’t help myself, my phone demands my attention, and once I give it I am drawn in, and have no concept of passing time.
When the post came up on Facebook the first thing I did was to open up Spotify on my phone and look at the music I had downloaded. Most of it, un-surprisingly, was stuff I had downloaded for the kids, some of which I do quite like, but I am unlikely to listen to the soundtrack of Mary Poppins Returns or Trolls when they’re not around. I also had a couple of my husbands playlists and the song list for the choir I sing in. The only thing I had downloaded because I actually wanted to listen to it was the soundtrack to the True Detective series and a Sia album from 2014. I listened to both that day. I sang along and got nothing else done. And then I was sad that something that had previously been a big part of my life had been so constricted.
I am apt to brood on things and not actually do anything to improve them, but I am in a better place currently, so I have been trying to rectify this. I was already on the path – having joined a gospel choir in September, I am at least singing again. But I have been choosing to listen to music this week, when I might otherwise have scrolled through my phone. And, when the chance arises I am choosing to just listen. To let the music wash over me, and to hear the melody, the harmonies and allow myself to feel the music. There is great power in music, and I could really do with some of that in my life!

I didn’t realise that you’d gone
I don’t know when you went
I am sorry that I let you go
Un-noticed

You crept away so slowly
You stole such pleasure away
You left a hole so glaring
Un-noticed

It is only in hindsight that
I realise what joy and beauty
You took with you

Just let me sleep!

Posted on by estlh
https://www.deviantart.com/nakovalnya-artist/art/Insomnia-718713095

One of the things I struggle with most about depression is the effect it has on my sleep. As if my emotions weren’t already all over the place, everything seems worse when I’m tired, especially when I’m exhausted. My energy levels are lowered anyway, and then lack of sleep sends them to rock bottom. Trying to motivate myself to do anything seems nigh on impossible, even if my mind is willing, my flesh is certainly not up to the task. It can feel like I am trying to swim through treacle. Retaining information becomes troublesome – I am usually a quick learner, but in the middle of a period of insomnia I struggle to hold on to anything new. I forget what people tell me and can seem uncaring if I fail to remember something a friend has told me. Work can be challenging as getting my head around some of the maths and frequencies required can be an uphill struggle, when ordinarily they would all just slot into place.

But the worst thing is the irritability. Every. Little. Thing. Is .SO. annoying. I forget where I’ve put something down and get all snappy and accuse people of moving it. Strangers step in front of me in the street, How dare they! I can’t get something to work properly and it ends up flung down in anger! I can almost shake with the adrenalin pumping through me at the slightest provocation. At home is where it hurts most though, my husband is a saint for putting up with me. But it is when I find myself snapping at the kids for doing nothing more than being kids that the guilt starts. I hug them, I apologise and then I worry. Worry about the effect this is having on them, worry that I should be better able to control my irritation around them, and worry again about how this is all effecting them. The kind of worrying that keeps me awake at night . . .
And so the circle continues.

Thankfully, these periods don’t last forever. There are periods when I do get some sleep. There are also some nights when I am assisted by a small pill, although this can result in severe grogginess the next day, and induced sleep does not refresh in the same way as natural sleep.
I have just had to accept that this is something that will happen from time to time. Nights spent tossing and turning with a brain that just won’t switch off can be painfully long, and what helps me one night can have no effect the next. Sometimes getting up and doing something other then trying to fall asleep can help, other times I sit up all night writing poetry . 

I'm currently excelling at insomnia.
 I've got to say I really am the best
 When it comes to lying fretful in the darkness
 While everybody else is getting rest.
 Some would say they do not understand it –
 I really do not need to worry yet,
 About the problem that I'll have a week next Tuesday
 With somebody that I haven’t thus far met.

 I'm currently excelling at insomnia.
 It’s great to say it really is a strength.
 When it comes to stopping me from ever sleeping
 My brain will really go to any length
 Even though my body is exhausted
 My brain, it seems, would like to tell a tail
 About everything and anything and nothing,
 The narrative I just cannot curtail.

 I'm currently excelling at insomnia.
 It's something that I really do quite well
 While everybody else is deep in slumber
 I'm fretting in my own personal hell.
 I don't think this can go on for much longer
 Another night I really can't endure.
 I've spent the week resembling a zombie
 A good night's sleep I really must procure.

 I'm currently excelling at insomnia …

What problem?

Posted on by estlh

It’s been quite a while since I last posted. For a while I just did not know what to write. I had no words. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed so I did what I always do, my best ostrich impression. I am very good at sticking my head in the sand; if i can’t see or hear something I don’t like, then clearly it’s not there. If only it actually worked like that. The difference between me and an ostrich though, is the lack of any sand. Not physically being able to bury my head I do my best to bury myself in my phone instead. I put my headphones on so I can listen to one thing while at the same time I am reading or watching something completely different. I scroll through endless social media and live vicariously through friends and acquaintances whose filtered life I can aspire to. Recently I have discovered Facebook groups as well. I am able to feel connected to people who have similar interests and tastes as me, even though I know nothing of them in real life. But that is ultimately the problem. No matter how many on line conversations I have, or how much advice I offer to online friends; however needed and known this makes me feel, it is not real life. It is me drowning out the noise of my real life. The trouble is the noise is not going anywhere, it’s not going to stop. I just need to drag my head out of my phone long enough to find where the volume control is . . .

Anyway, as it turns out, Ostriches don’t actually bury there heads to hide from danger or predators. Generally if an ostrich has it’s head in the sand it is in fact turning it’s eggs, which they lay in small holes in the sand. So maybe I would do better trying to copy a real ostrich than a mytholgoical one and focus on trying to grow something rather than hiding away and getting nothing done.

I will not quake at the sound of the tempest
 If my ears are deaf to it's rumble
 My eyes will not widen in fearful disbelief
 If I do not behold what is to come
 I will not be troubled by the smell of fear
 If I deny myself the breath of an anxious moment
 I will not taste the salt of my tears 
 If I mix them with the poison of denial
 I will not shrink at the clammy chill of troubles touch
 If I hide beyond it's reach

 And as I cease to exist outside
 My own destructive oblivion . . .

 My ears will no longer hear 
 The joyful music of your voice
 My eyes will no longer delight in
 The beauty of you
 I will not inhale the fragrant
 Reassurance of your embrace
 I will no longer taste
 The love in your kiss
 Nor be comforted by
 Your tender hand on my skin

 Far too high a price is demanded
 For a life free from acknowledged tribulation.

Spring clean

Posted on by estlh

The sun outside is shining brightly in the clear blue sky. A bit of sunshine always boosts my mood, and somehow I feel more awake and enlivened on a sunny day. As I sit here though, I am also aware how the sun shows up all the dust – shining into all the shadows and revealing what had previously been hidden. Catching the dancing specks in the beam of light through the window. Time for a spot of spring cleaning I feel, but not just in the physical sense. It it time to take a look at those things that lurk in the shadows of my conscience. The things that chip away at my confidence and steal my contentment. Things whose prescence I am largely unaware of, even if their effects are felt all too painfully. Time to do what I can to sweep them all out and get rid!

Vernal

 It is time to brush off the cobwebs 
 To throw wide open the door 
 It is time to clear out the rubbish 
 And sweep up the dust from the floor.

 As we purge of what is now stagnant 
 And bid past remains an adieu 
 We turn from the comforts of winter
 And look to beginning anew.

 It is time to step out of the darkness 
 And know we are where we belong 
 It is time to recapture our freedom
 To rise up and sing our new song.

Cumulus

Posted on by estlh

I have a tendency to overthink, especially when it comes to things concerning myself. Especially when it comes to how others perceive me. I know full well that how people see me is often not at all how I assume they see me, and yet still it is something that preoccupies far more of my thoughts than it should. I am getting better. But sometimes I cannot help myself. So I am trying to be more deliberate with focusing on others and trying to be more present. Enjoying each moment for what it is rather than trying to analyse everything for subtle hints and clues that mean nothing like what I think they do. Some times I can do this with great success, but other times . . . 

Everything is fogged
 It is as though I exist in my own cloud –
 Carrying it with me wherever I go.
 So everywhere I am present, yet detached not involved
 All time is passed in this manner
 I bear my cloud which excludes me from all I crave
 Take it. Please.
 For though there is comfort in it’s familiarity,
 I do not want it any longer.
 I wish to free myself
 For when the sun, on occasion, forces it’s way through
 I feel for a fleeting moment it’s warmth on my skin.
 Yet even before my smile is complete it is 
snatched away from me
 And the mist envelopes me once more.
 How I long to be free of 
 This unyielding cloud of
 self obsession.

Chameleon

Posted on by estlh
Chameleon

For years I was something of a chameleon. Not having the self confidence to just be myself I tried too hard to fit in. Depending on where I was going and in particular who I would see, I would adapt. I would wear different clothing, act differently, talk about different things. I could even enjoy things in one situation that I would then ridicule in another. I was simultaneously a goth, a rock chick and a Brossette! In the morning I could spend hours staring into the wardrobe choosing what to wear while I worried about who I would see that day, and if there was any likelihood of me bumping into someone who knew me as someone else. Gradually I became so used to camourflaging myself that I forgot who the real me was, I just knew that I was not quite comfortable being me. It’s been hard work finding myself again, and I am still not quite there, but for now I am content to be on the right path to my true self.

I am not who you think I am
 I do not intend to be
 Whatever you may think of this
 I will be true to me.
 I have to find the truth myself
 Of who I really am
 Or face the consequence of always 
 Feeling I'm a sham.
 The truth of me has gotten lost
 Through the passing of the years 
 But now it’s time to seek it out
 No more useless tears.
 I know it is no easy task that
 I have set my soul
 And yet it is essential now
 So I may become whole.
 Too much time and energy
 I've wasted on this scheme
 I am, I can, I will be
 So much more than I ever dreamed.

The power of words

Posted on by estlh

I do not remember the first time I wrote. It is something I have been doing as long as I can remember. At primary school I remember writing adventure stories, which were probably inspired by my love of the Famous Five and Secret Seven books. I remember one story I wrote about a hidden cave with a tunnel to an island and the smugglers who used it – inspired by Kirrin Island no doubt.

It was in my teens that I started writing poetry. Obviously for school work to start with, but I was soon hooked. At the time I didn’t know why I loved it so much, but looking back I think it was the freedom it gave me to express myself, especially as someone who was so painfully shy. I wrote a whole series of poems entitled “Adolescence” covering such topics as boys, exams, identity and annoying parents. Typical teenage issues, but I would have struggled to convey my feelings about these vocally, and writing poetry helped me to not bottle things up or dwell on them too much.

In adulthood I have written a lot of poetry inspired by life events and big emotions; love, birth, death; joy and sorrow. But a significant amount of my poems have been written when I was at my lowest ebb. I was 16 when I was first diagnosed with depression. It was to be the first of several bouts, including 2 lots of post-natal depression. When I am depressed there are times when the words just flow out of me, but they are not always pretty! I have written some very dark verses during these times, but they have been a way of getting it out, helping me make sense of the turmoil in my head. A release. Writing at these times can be cathartic, but also quite revealing, as I get to know myself a little bit better through the words I string together.

Sitting bent over my notebook.
Scribbling, scrawling,
words flowing from my mind.
An unending stream 
of verbs, adjectives, nouns.
Telling their story.
Sharing their knowledge,
their understanding,
their insight.
Opening to the world
my innermost secrets.
Displaying
my private pleasures
and pains
for all to see.
Once started they spill on out 
a continual cascade,
try as I might to catch 
them with my hands.
So slippery,
they slide through my fingers
onto the page,
and I am forced to confront
this truth 
in black and white before me.