Life, And Other Natural Disasters...

The black dog continues.  Several times this week, I have felt like crying for no particular reason apart from the hopelessness of it all.  Today, I just feel like hiding from everything as I cannot seem to derive much joy.  I feel like everything I touch turns to failure.

I think I need to seek out more counselling.

Haven't written anything of any consequence in the Journal in what seems like an age.  So, I suppose this is a bit of a where-I-am-now post.  Geographically, I'm still stuck in a village with one bus an hour except on Sundays where there is nothing.  One shop; one pub.  Tried to learn to drive about 2 years ago and came up against a brick wall, despite the fact that this time I was learning in an automatic rather than a stick shift.  Bought a (old) bike which I hadn't realised (due to my complete absence of nouse and mechanical skills) had a dodgy clutch and ended up selling it at a loss to someone who did have the requisite mechanical skills.  That and His Lordship worried every time I went out on it put the kybosh on that.

Mentally, been going through the wringer.  Went back on Venlafaxine again for 6 months, then found a local sexual health charity that was offering  inexpensive counselling, so have been working through with that for a few months now, which seems to be working fine. especially since my councellor works to the Person Centred methodology, with which I have a degree of familiarisation.  It is a minimal amount they charge, but I have volunteered to help them man their tent at Leicester Pride next month.

Healthwise, now have a formal diagnosis of Sleep Apnea (which many have suspected for years) and now the proud posessor of an "Inflate-A-Steve" as I call it.  Still trying to get used to it; it will take time, but given the potential health benefits, I am determined to make it work.  Noticed today that I managed to swim further than I could before starting the treatment, so the snatches of sleep I am catching with the device on seem to be having some effect.  However, I am feeling particularly fat at the moment - my mental health has meant that my comfort eating has been worse than usual.  My consultant at the Sleep Clinic at Leicester General tells me that one of the benefits of the CPAP treatment is that I should start producing more of a hormone that stops these cravings, so here's hoping.  His Lordship not really helping here as he tends to take the p--- out of any attempt to undertake any form of exercise, from his well-worn seat on the sofa.

Work - oy vey.  Where do I start?  I can't really go into much detail as we have a social media policy which prevents me from identifying who I work for online, but I am being micro-managed out of my head.  Not by local management who, for the main part, are supportive but those above, including one manager who I refer to as The Smiling Assasin as she pretends everything is nicey-nice and wonderful, whilst stabbing people in the back at any opportunity.  Paranoia levels high!  Took a test last weekend for another department which I felt I did well in but of course my self doubt kicked in.  Should hear before the end of the month on that one.

Musically, seem to be listening to a lot of Joni Mitchell of late, thanks to a local chanteuse by the name of Sally Barker who achieved a degree of fame a couple of years ago by getting to the finals of the UK version of The Voice, being coached by Sir Tom Jones.  She has managed to return to her roots, playing local venues and touring, despite being offered a recording contract which, frankly, would not have shown the British public how truly versatile she is.

On the travel front, apart from our road trip from Oakland to Seattle last year, spent a few days in the northern Netherlands based in Zwolle, which I throroughly enjoyed.  A bit of winter sun in the Algarve too, which is just what the doctor ordered.  And, of course, the few days by the Loire last month.  Got a trip to see little sis in Sweden in October, along with Florida in December as a Fiftieth birthday treat from His Lordship.

Well, I think that's everything for the moment, apart from losing my beloved maternal grandmother a couple of weeks ago - she was 94, so she'd had a fair innings, but it's still hard to let go of someone you've known for 49 years.

I've taken the plunge again.  After nigh on 6 years of abstenence, I have taken tentative steps to get behind the wheel of a car and learn to drive again.  Had my first lesson on Friday evening - sh*t scared!  Don't know why; maybe it's the amount of time since my last lesson when I was living in Gosport.  Still not sure whether I'm going to gel with my new instructor but I've got another lesson Thursday night for an hour.

Have got to do a theory and hazard perception test now which I didn't have to do in the past because I already hold a full motorcycle licence, but this now counts for naught... oh well.  So, here we go again...

Three years ago, I was in Tucson - I think it was a Thursday; various parties were being organised to local restaurants for the early arrivers at Fiesta de los Osos.  It must have been about 6pm - I had gone back to my hotel room for whatever reason and  I checked my computer and found a message from madamemish to contact her as soon as possible.  The transatlantic phone call that followed started something like this:-

"Mish?"
"He's gone." (sob)
"What?  Who...?"
"Russ.  He's dead."  There was a pause.  Then I howled.

The circumstances have been documented elsewhere, but at that moment in time I felt disconnected; hit by the full force of the distance between here and there.  There was only one thing I could do under that circumstance; I rang my father.  I needed the familiar.

I must have been in my room quite a while; when I re-emerged, I remember the first person to see me was shelbycub .  I'm not sure whether I just hugged him or blurted out what had happened.

Fast forward three years; it still hurts.  Which is good in it's own way.  Have asked Steve to take me to the grave the weekend after next.  I'll be a mess, but I think I need to be a mess.

I've started seeing a therapist again.  Partly because the department pays for 6 therapy sessions as part of its wellbeing program; partly because whilst I have travelled a long way on my emotional journey, I still have things to try and sort out.  And this is part of that cleansing process.

Tonight, towards the end of the session, the therapist suggested something that gave me one of those clarity moments - something clicked into place and made sense.  I'm not going to go into any detail as it was something personal to me, but it sort of shocked me.  I'm still reeling now.

But it made sense.

...mentally speaking, that is.
Having come off the Venlafaxine with the help of my GP, having come to an un-easy truce with the events of the last three years or so, having discovered new strengths within me, progress has definitely been made.

But...
Despite going to the GP last week to sort out my sleep problem, namely the vivid and weird dreams I've been getting, which I have started getting again and getting a prescription for sleeping pills, I have found that after a few days, the pills get less and less effective and the dreams are coming back.  I will most likely try and ring the medical center for an appointment to discuss the next course of action.

However...
I went to Birmingham Pride on Saturday and made some very useful connections; I discovered that there are gay mens groups in both Dudley and Wolverhampton - the Dudley group meets monthly and the next meeting is while I am at The Summer Good Food Show on June 13th.  The Wolverhampton group meets weekly on a Monday night (except Bank Holidays, which is why I am not going to head over there tonight.

So, progress.  Still stuff to do though...

I'm not sure whether one event in particular triggered my coming out ten years ago.  Certainly, the internet played a big part in it; the discovering of bears and the fact that I was not the only person with my particular kinks through various searches online.  For many years, I had thought of myself as asexual; I tried a couple of heterosexual relationships because it seemed to be expected of me.  But it wasn't right.  Since High School and the bullying by a number of assholes because I was a sensitive sod.  Because somehow I was different.  Well, guess what f*ckers, I am different.  I'm not the downtrodden creature I once was.  I have evolved so much beyond that; blossomed you could say to someone who is a lot happier with himself than he was then.  Admittedly, a lot of self worth issues have been resolving themselves over more recent years, but coming out had an awful lot to do with the beginning of the journey to where I am today.

I kept a picture of Clifford in my wallet.  Past tense.  I got rid of it this morning; I think I had a sense of wanting to move forward.

Time will tell.

This week's Bear With Me strip struck a chord with me; it showed one of the central characters being literally overwhelmed with all the negative messages and insecurities that appeared to have been hiding from him until he returned to his family.  Whilst these days, I think I am dealing with some of the negative messages that have haunted me over the years by challenging Dearly Beloved Aged Parent, they still catch me unawares and I am curled up foetal on the floor.  I'm not convinced I will ever lose those inner dialogues but slowly I am re-writing some of them.

Until the next disaster happens...