Had a weird week where I hit a major low a couple of times. Became obsessed with the idea that every time I had a massive dip in mood and self-worth (which is different to self esteem apparently), that some kind of horrendous disaster occurred to someone else.
I felt shit about myself – Manchester bombing. Had another slump. – London stabbings. Last week, went to bed full of woe and gloom and self-depreciation for no apparent reason I could justify. Black dog snapping at my heels. Boom! Grenfell Tower fire next day.
Began to feel like a harbinger of death, a bit like Richard Burton in ‘The Medusa Touch’. Now I daren’t confess to feeling down in case it causes karma to slap me in the face with another horrifying news story of death and mindless waste of life. Life shouting at me, “BUCKLE UP FUCK NUGGET! SOME DAYS ARE A BIT WANK. DEAL WITH IT. SHIT COULD BE WAY WORSE. LIKE FOR THESE POOR FUCKERS, CHECK IT OUT!” Cue next news story of gloom, doom, hideous untimely death and sorrow.
Life can be a bit of a cunt at times (and depression lies!)
But life can also be beautiful. Kind. Loving. Funny. Worth it.
Today we had a very sunny family day in the garden for Father’s Day. I swung in a hammock with a glass of Pimms and a new book, and life was good and I was glad to be alive.