I’ve been unwell with Postmodern Stress Disorder for over a month now and my road to recovery is taking longer than expected. I’m still not at my best but thankfully I feel as if I’m finally on the mend, slowly but surely. Before getting sick I had started my first draft for the ‘communities of practice’ paper, which I was affectionately calling Sky High. Reading it now a month later, things have changed slightly, particularly my personal circumstances and how this has affected my work/study plans this year.
After coming home from URSS in December, I made some pretty big decisions about my future, which in hindsight may have been rash and premature. I probably should have recognised that I wasn’t my usual self when I made these decisions, given my mind was overly active and my thoughts were constantly ‘racing’ at the time. This was especially true, given my prolific writing on this forum, posting a new journal piece almost daily. Thank you all for indulging me back then, dearly beloved readers!
Having not written a word since being sky high last month, I would like to put pen to paper once again (or in my case, finger to iPad) to organise my thoughts and calm my mind so that it’s no longer in a state of flux. But curing my writer’s block is a double-edged sword. Despite the apparent benefits of reflective writing practice and reflexivity, for someone with a mental illness, I fear there are many hidden dangers, particularly, excessive introspection and inward thinking. At least that’s been my experience! We don’t want a repeat of Manic Meltdown ’08 or the Lithium Daze ’00, do we now?
So for the sake of my sanity, I’ll try not to overdo it by writing more objectively from now on. Sadly, this means the long-awaited sequel to ‘Tales of Informative Uncertainty’ is no longer forthcoming, my dearly beloved readers. Rather, expect ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Objective Truth and Absolute Certainty’ to hit the shelves instead. It’s destined to become another bestseller, don’t you think? But in all seriousness, I’d like to start posting on the forum again, in order to get my mojo back and in the process, submit my section of the paper as soon as possible. I feel compelled to write, about everything and nothing all at once; to clear my weary head of all its restless thoughts and ideas, so that hopefully I can find a cure for whatever it is that ails me. Until then I cannot rest.
A cluster of black wings
Appear amidst the gloom of rain.
Hanging in dispersed unity,
They glide back and forth
Showering in synchronicity.
Disappearing into dry shelter,
The injured bird wonders
When will he be ready to fly?