Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….




I recently bought a new IMac and today, as it’s pissing down outside, I decided to get on with the laborious task of of transfering all my old MS Word files to Pages.

I expected this to be a boring task, but not a painful one.

You see, you can’t just click on all of docs and files, then do something nifty whereby they all just change format in a series of half a dozen clicks.  That would just be too easy wouldn’t it?

You have to open them one at a time with Pages then save them.  And of course when you open something you have written years ago, you are curious and that curiosity is piqued by tantalising lines and phrases that catch your eye, and you invariably end up reading the whole thing.

And believe me it ain’t exactly Adrian Mole.

Letter after letter, journal entry after journal entry, diatribe after diatribe of anger, resentment and pain, endless, relentless self examination and semi suicidal self sabotage, and always, always at the heart of it, Fear with a capital ‘F’.

These writings span almost a decade (the age of my old IMac) but I know pre Mac, they go back much further than that.

I marvel how long I stayed out there in that world, showing up every day, hanging on by bleeding fingertips, hiding behind a series of masks, longing to be understood but unable to trust, then out of sheer loneliness, showing too much of myself then backlashing violently on realising that that trust had not been earned, or had, inevitably been betrayed.

There was and is however, a lot of insight and acceptance in these missives of what needs to be done in order to escape the hell of that faux existence, and now the loneliness of my chosen hibernation from the world.

But ten years on, it is still a terrifying prospect.

Ten years of pouring out my soul on paper  Probably more, maybe even twenty.

And before that?

Bearing the unbearable in resolute silence.  Showing nothing.  Braced defiantly against it, bristling with hatred and outrage, absorbing it into my being like the blaze of the sun, unflinching, unyielding, alone.

So many years. I have to try not to be ashamed though, as what is done is done, and what good would it do anyway?

I’m so grateful, that, even though I eventually crashed and burned, I found my way to this peaceful if solitary shore.

And the world of blogging where I have a true, authentic voice has been a revelation, and the friends I have found here are like water to a desert cactus :-).  And I am grateful.

But I still need to make changes, interact with and inevitably face the world again, which waits patiently, tongue lolling, like a wolf at my door.

And it’s time; if only taking one tiny, minuscule step at a time, I have to move forward.

Even he doesn’t need to tell me that.


3 thoughts on “WHAT TIME IS IT MR. WOLF?

  1. Yes I must respond. HA! At the end of my last marriage. I would say from 1999 – 2004, I frequented a poetry site and I posted, daily! OK, hourly at times. To the tune of 500+ poetic masterpieces. That period reads like a diary. And I can still make myself cry on return visits! 🙂 I can do that with various blogs too! Amazing how powerful our own words can be.

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