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Those internal incessant voices Are your repeated words They are the horrible things said That I should never have heard They repeat themselves overtly And burn within my heart Until I can only hear them And they slowly tear me apart I can be on my own completely Or smiling within a crowd The sun could be shining brightly Or I could be under a storm cloud They start to strangle me And cloud my busy mind Until I can't but help to wish My mind be free my body left behind

Dear Alcohol You make me in to a fun, somewhat loud, drunk.  I love to dance and joke and chat.  I then fall asleep especially with the addition thereafter of fresh air. Why is it you cannot do the same for everybody?  Why does the same drug have different effects on people?  I know it's about emotional responses and biological make up, physiological, psychology and various other ologies as well.  However this letter is to you. Why turn somebody I love in to a mean hearted, foul tongued, obnoxious, selfish, argumentative, opinionated, miserable bully?  Why?  It is breaking my heart.   They say that "what is on the drunk man's lips is in the sober man's heart" (in vino veritas) and if that is so I am in trouble.  So many unkind words and statements.  They are making me numb.  Please don't turn them to hate. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names stay forever with me. I ask you, alcohol, stop stealing...

Everyone has bad days. Most of us have sad days. We all suffer those can't be bothered days. Maybe it's the weather or, for us women, hormones. Those on the road less travelled have these feelings daily. We wake up with a heavy depression lying across our brow. It pulls at the bags under our eyes that were brought by a sleepless night. We wake up and haul our sorry arses out of bed. Shower if we can get it together and put on some clothes; not really caring what we are wearing or if we wore the outfit yesterday. Then off we plod to work or on the school run. Coats on, mask on, ready to face the day with a smile.  It's a battle and one we often fail to win until we get home and count the hours until bed time. A bed time that brings with it a fretful sleep.  Yes we all have bad days. Depression isn't just a bad day. It is a way of life. 

The oddest thing just happened to me. In the middle of a pole class I just put on my trackies, my hoodie and left. I am not a quitter. I never leave a film halfway through, I see things through, I read a book to the end, it doesn't mean I am enjoying it but if I sign up to it I stay with it. I wouldn't want to waste my time or money after all.  Today however I just had to leave. I had an overwhelming sense of being an outsider, or being useless, just feeling wrong. Pole isn't like that, it's all inclusive, but today it was like I was at a new studio: a complete beginner.  I put my hood up and stepped out I to the rain and cried. I just felt wrong....