Im supposed to share my suicidal thoughts. I have. Honestly and openly which isn’t the fucking easiest thing to do. And it amounts to everyone suddenly becoming a psychiatrist. They’re not. I don’t want advice. I want ears and heart and understanding and a hand on my shoulder. That’s it.

So, logically, I’m isolated. I can’t talk to friends or family. I don’t want to be alone because that means listening to my head. So, again, where do I go? Where do I find peace? It’s not with loved ones, and it’s not in my own company. There isn’t anything else. So not being here stops it all.

And when I hear those ridiculous and offensive questions from people who claim to know and love me, all I can think is, you sound exactly like the fucker in my head who tries to convince me to not be here. So, what’s the point? Where do I go? No where. I’m trying every day. But isn’t helping.

That’s brilliant. The painting seems to move with her posture.

Thank you, Julie. I’ll always keep my Mum close for all the years I have left, just as you have. I hope August 5th is kind to you, and all the following days.

I need to work on my hashtags…

That’s so kind, thank you

Love your work!

Headphones in, podcast on, and I do house-chores. I start with the usuals, cleaning, tidying but end up handling things that’ve needed attention for ages. Feels great, productive and by the time I’m done my head feels much clearer. Boring for some maybe but it works for me!

Christmas death threats. Such a magical time of year, and a brilliant band name…