Groundhog day…

quietcalliope

I’m trying to imagine the possibilities of opening up a new chapter looking towards a potential positive future for my life, making a concentrated effort to turn over the page and finally close the book on my difficult depressive past. Of somehow resisting the pull of those same old self-stories, those tired over-used habitual self-limiters that keep me slogging along on the same old track, head down, wondering why life always seems to be nothing but an endless series of restrictive pattern repeats, never seeming to change…

Imagine how it might feel not to have those invisible chains holding me down, holding me back, keeping me forever anchored to the past through the sheer weight of my own over-analysed history. Imagine being able to see an alternative unfettered future, one decided by an unlimited me. Unlimited in the sense of simply accepting my actual, practical limitations without adding even more…

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A bitter pill to swallow…

quietcalliope

Purplepersuasion’s article ‘Jagged little pill: has the recovery narrative gone too far?’ puts into words most eloquently some of the troubling half-hearted thoughts and semi-solid ideas that have so recently lead me to question my own blogging journey, my own narrative of resilience and recovery.

I started writing quietcalliope four months ago, at the age of fifty, with the idea of finally giving myself a voice and sharing my experience of living with life-long, low-lying depression punctuated intermittently with deeper, more debilitating depressive episodes. In one sense this has proved truly successful for me – I have indeed found my voice. But nevertheless after a while I found writing under that singular remit too restrictive, too psychologically uncomfortable, as I felt defined – was effectively defining myself – by what is after all only one facet of my being.

So with a slightly troubled heart I decided to move on…

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